Angels Sing
by ABC Girl
Summary: CSI Miami The final chapter in the Finding Peace trilogy.


Title: Angels Sing (1/1)  
  
Author: Andrea (abc3969@juno.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Pairing: While I might explore the potential of other duos on occasion, my heart will always return to Horatio/Calleigh; and so, to my own muse I must be true.  
  
Disclaimer: Me no profit; you no sue.  
  
Archive: Is anybody archiving these? If so, just say so. I'll come visit.  
  
Spoilers: None  
  
Author's Notes: This piece was written as a continuation of my earlier works, "Finding Peace" and "Monsters Dance," though it could reasonably stand alone. You need not read those two stories to follow this one. Sometimes an idea won't go away. The theme of these stories has a firm grip on me and doesn't seem to want to let go.  
  
Feedback: If you please. Be gentle.  
  
*****  
  
He thinks I don't see him out there; that I've never seen him furtively ensconced in the shadows outside my door. I'm sure there have been times when I didn't see him with my eyes, but my heart felt him, nonetheless, just out of my reach. Somehow, I've developed a sixth sense devoted wholly to Horatio Caine. I know his thoughts, his fears, his actions and his reactions, often before he knows them himself. When I look in the mirror, it's his reflection I see peering back at me. I came to realize it a while ago and I think Horatio did too; he's just scared as hell to admit it-we complete each other. We always have; we always will. But still he tries to deny it by distancing himself from me. That never lasts too long, though. You'll never be able to outrun me, Horatio.  
  
I know he has trouble sleeping. Maybe the others don't see it, but I can't mistake the bleary eyes, the trite conversation. He's a very serious person. He feels everything intensely. He takes each and every case personally. He's as devoted to his team as we are to him. I think that's why we're the best CSIs anywhere. We've got a synergy that doesn't come along by happenstance. And, of all of us, Horatio and I work best together. We just fit. Didn't take long for me to start imagining that "fit" in other contexts. God help me, I love him. I could finally admit it to myself. It was time to admit it to him.  
  
For weeks, I'd covertly watched him covertly watching me from a distance. I'm no wallflower by anyone's definition, but I've also never been one to make the first move where relationships are concerned. Well, that certainly changed. We couldn't have kept that game up much longer. Something, someone had to give. And so, summoning up all the Southern backbone I could find, I strolled out to the yard, across the street, and planted myself purposefully in front of him, nose to nose-well, nose to collarbone to be more precise, but I wasn't going to back down. I took him by the hand and led him back to my apartment.  
  
That first night was just plain amazing. I held him and petted him like a comfortless infant. We were granted a miracle that night. He fell asleep and slept soundly, probably for the first time in weeks. When I woke the next morning, our positions were reversed, with me cradled in his arms, his nose buried in my hair. I slid from his embrace to shower and make myself presentable. When I came back into the bedroom, he was gone. We never spoke about that night, but there was no need to fear or feel self- conscious. He came back several times, but hung back waiting for me to draw him in, giving him permission, I suppose, to act on his feelings, even if only innocently.  
  
And now, wonder of wonders, he doesn't even pretend to hide in the shadows any more. He rings the doorbell and makes his way in. Without a word from me, he feels comfortable enough to come in, grab a drink from my fridge, kick off his shoes and plop himself in front of my television, snagging the remote from my obliging grasp. We can enjoy each other's company without restraint or concern about impropriety. Ours is an easy companionship. Then, sleep beckons. Not even that is worrisome anymore. We have an understanding. Some nights we crawl into my bed together. Other nights, he follows shortly after me, sliding in and wrapping himself around me, more snugly and comfortably than even my cherished childhood blanket. The mornings after are glorious. We awaken rested and refreshed, ready to face the oncoming day's tribulations, secure in the knowledge that regardless of the day's events, we have the nights to reconstruct ourselves and each other. He may still face down human demons by day, but he no longer struggles with monsters in his sleep. When I hold him and he holds me, it's as if the dark clouds above us part like the Red Sea and I can practically hear the heavenly chorus of angels sing in celebration. Two wandering souls have found one another. All is at peace.  
  
Finis 


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